Your Eyes Open

There's something about...
...this library...

It isn't silent - not at all...in fact, there's a heavy bustle of bewildered students shuffling up down the rows of computers. No one's completely silent - the boy at the end of one row is munching on crisps, the girl next to me is on her mobile and I'm, well, tapping my feet to the beats of Keane's "Your Eyes Open".

It's a lonely road that you have chosen...

I guess that's what's weird about this library - you're surrounded by people and even if you're absorbed in your work you are constantly reminded by the occasional clinks of pens and the constant white-noise of muffled voices. Nowhere's silent here.

It's a lonely place that you have run to...

Despite the people around you, you still feel lonely. Actually, it feels even lonelier than being on your own in your darkened box room. It could be because you're forced to sit at your seat and focus on your assignment. But it might also be the fact that, despite all the people who were in the library with you, not a single one of them is a familiar face - everyone's a stranger, nobody's a friend - and the shoulder you once could lean on, is nothing but a desire which floats aimlessly at the back of your mind. Now, all you have in the forefront is a computer screen which shines eerily in the darkened library as night approaches and everyone goes home.

Till the moment your eyes open and you know...

And suddenly, you realise that you're truly alone...

Trees Overhead

They're tall,
aren't they? Like ethereal beings
showering you with red, yellow
and gold. It's like
a dream which never ends -
their height, stature
grandiosity
leaves us in awe
wishing we could be like them;
but, alas, we're small
and weak, and
undermined
like the children we are
and we become manic in
depression to make us wish
we could be the one
showering others with
red, yellow and gold

I didn't see you today

I didn't get to see you today;
I missed you in the corridors
and on the pavement
where we once met under
autumn trees. The sun was gold
and old and beautiful, throwing
a blanket of calm
over what was to be chaos
which would only quieten
under suppressed anger
and sadness whilst
I walked down empty
dreaded corridors I knew
all to well, is where you dwell
and so I ducked out of sight
of the familiar shuffle
and hoped not to be seen.

Maybe that's why I didn't see you
today in the corridors
or on the pavement
where we once met because
the trees were now in winter
and the sun was dampened
and dead, like the musings
of this lost child
who lost at the game and is
at a loss for words.

To Those We Lost

In time there were those to be lost
to time and space
and memories which vanish
into the thin air of mind
and then there were those
to be remembered
at the back of the mind
who reserve themselves
a seat behind the mind's eye
but are not any more
than your own memory
of the real one
which once existed
before your very eyes
but now do not and only
exist in the horizon,
out of sight.

Tides die slow

Children speak like ghosts,
their words soft and subtle
under sheets and covers
where feverish hands play host.

I'm Afraid of Crossing Your Path

I'm afraid of crossing your path...

...it quivers like fear in the dark light.
It wasn't always like that when times
were different. But, things have
changed in the child's half cries.

The Anti-climax

Boys and girls sat in rows
in hundreds
with pencils and
a ticking clock up front
ticking away time.
It's all disappearing -
self and thought,
they go into the light
shining harshly overhead.
Like children they sit
where no child should be
first thirty, twenty
then ten
more minutes
and then it ends
in an anti-climax
not representative of
the weeks and months
or day before.
But anyway it ends,
no one speaks
or thinks
and then they let us go
and we leave.
Men and women
walk through the door
and it's dark outside
so putting on our coats
we walk home
mind more restful
but burden none the more
lifted.